


Rootstock

by EskerDune



Category: Cuphead (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, Gardening makes for bad dates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-17
Updated: 2017-12-01
Packaged: 2019-02-03 17:43:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12753099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EskerDune/pseuds/EskerDune
Summary: In the days after The Devil’s fall, Cagney finds himself gardening for Hilda Berg and may have resigned himself to a life long existential crisis.





	1. To Cultivate

Cagney isn’t sure how long it had been since those little twerps had reaped havoc throughout The Devil’s Casino. He sure got a good laugh once he heard that goon King Dice had been seen sleazing it up around the Island’s other bars sporting bruises and a shiner around his eye. But his laughter sure sobered up when he remembered the mess those kids had made of him and his garden.

He still hadn’t gotten the heart to replant anything so he had taken to willing the hours away, making and unmaking mounds of dirt when he was bored. He hoped those snot nosed cups tripped on some of them on their way home someday.

Broodingly he sifts moist soil between his leaves picking particular rocks out that he thinks are unsightly, and he just barely hears a scoff coming from behind him. He plasters a fierce scowl on his face, readying a snarl before it gets stuck in his throat when he whips around and his face morphs into weary confusion at the sight of the gangly limbs of Hilda Berg.

He notes that there is an old scrape running along the line of her cheek, it pulls up as she smirks at Cagney.

“Got your petals in a ruffle still?” She crosses her arms, a haughty look on her face.

Cagney fixes a level stare at her, smiles teeth and all, and says too innocently, “Did you like that tumble out of the sky a few days ago? I could have sworn I saw you bump into a tree or two on your way down.”

Hilda’s smirk disappears quick as a flash and he feels quite proud he can still manage to get people irked at least.

“I don’t like waking up to holes all over my back yard, Cagney,” She hisses at him, emphasizing her words with a point towards the observatory.

Lazily, he follows the line of her finger and looks at the spray of dirt running along the clean cut patches of grass. He doesn’t feel guilty.

He raises to his full height towers over her, he feels smug satisfaction that she has to strain her head up to keep her glare locked to his eyes.

“Well!?” She demands impatiently, and she’s clenching her fists now. It reminds him of the tantrum the red cup had thrown after Cagney had launched him into the air.

“Well what, Miss Berg?” He asks, keeping his tone sickeningly sweet, Hilda’s eyes blaze at the patronizing. He wonders if she even realizes he’s just egging her on because he had been so damn bored.

“You better fix this now, Cagney Carnation!” she yells, he half expects her to start stomping her feet.

He chews on his tongue looking along the barren patches of dirt where the grass refuses to touch the gray washed walls of the observatory.

“Only if I can make this place actually look presentable any way I want.”

Hilda’s mouth forms a little “O” of surprise and her brow furrows as she shuts up for once.

Her eyes narrow suspiciously.

“Why?”

Cagney shrugs looks down and traces the lines of soil that have settled in his leaves.

“You made it look hideous here, and I’m bored.” He sounds petulant, even to himself. Hilda is looking at him with something he can’t really place.

“Be here at seven in the morning.”

She turns swiftly on her heel. Head held high, marching back to her abode. She slams the observatory door without a backwards glance.

Cagney almost feels thankful that she accepted so easily without further question, but it would be a cold day in hell before he ever told her that.

He lets the sweltering sun beat down on him instead, forgets that look in her eyes as he begins planning.

________

“What about roses?”

Cagney breaths slowly through his nose, he sees red every time he looks at Hilda laying on the grass, bare feet swinging in the air and the sweat on her brow curling her dark hair more.

He roots channels across the land. She no longer cares that the grass is getting ruined.

“No.” He growls, he focuses on the hot dirt around him.

“Why?” she asks and there’s a nasty little smirk on her face that says she knows exactly how to annoy him.

“They’re ugly and gaudy!” Like you, he almost snaps but Cagney would like to keep his petals on his head and thinks it smart to keep his thoughts to himself.

Hilda flops on her back eyeing him shrewdly.

“It’s my land,” She says arrogantly.

His teeth clench and he is disturbingly reminded of those cups taunts as they trampled his flowers on the way towards the lights of Beppi’s circus.

“And they’re my plants and seeds,” Cagney can hear his own pettiness, and he wonders if his interaction with those children has ruined his adult sensibilities.

She rolls her eyes, grown tired of him, probably, and watches the clouds.

There’s a blissful fifteen minutes of silence, only the shifting of dirt and the rustle of leaves break it, and Cagney feels the first bit of peace in a long while.

And then he feels Hilda’s eyes on him. Silently watching him and there’s a spark of something in her eyes again like the day before. She’s idly picking blades of grass that drift in the air as soon as she releases them.

He feels a need to break the silence, as if it’s the cause of the strange spell he has found himself in.

He meets her dark eyes, scowls, “What?”

The haughty defense is back in Hilda’s posture, and Cagney feels relief.

“What’s the first thing you’re going to plant, all I’ve seen so far is digging.”

He focuses on the soil once more mutters darkly, “It’s a secret, Berg.”

She huffs and he knows she’s rolling her eyes. He wants to say if she keeps that up they’ll probably fall out.

“When will you start planting?” She asks instead.

Cagney contemplates her question before meeting her eyes, and says, “Soon…”

He swears he sees satisfaction drift across Hilda’s lips for some reason.


	2. To Grow a Snapdragon

Cagney should have known to never, ever, trust Goopy Le Grande. He was known to be the notorious gossip of Inkwell Island. Word was his well of gossip had been the reason for bargaining with The Devil. Or he had a loudmouth at the wrong time in front of King Dice. Cagney was more partial to the second, the blue goob had never been smart.

Unfortunately, being a resident of the island meant a variety of friends was few and far between.

He gapes, just a bit, at Hilda. She picks at a snag in her skirt.

“Le Grande said what now?”

Hilda pierces him with an impatient stare, clicks her tongue and speaks slowly, like he’s one of the bumpkin school-house children.

“Goopy seems to have told the whole island you went and got yourself a gal.”

Cagney Carnation decides he’s going to strangle Goopy Le Grande when he sees him next. He can feel the prickle of warmth moving up his stem. He can most definitely convince himself it’s anger and not…something else.

He looks at the pot in his hands twisting it every which way, and the pink and yellow mouths of snapdragons almost look like they want to burst into giggles. He thinks that the world doesn’t have a very funny sense of humor anymore.

Cagney shoves the pot into Hilda’s arms unceremoniously, hears a breath whoosh out of her lungs in surprise but he won’t acknowledge her words.

“Hurry up and hold that, I’ll show you what you have to do next,” he snaps at her. Hilda clutches at the pot and stares down at it looking surprisingly hesitant.

“I thought you were taking care of these things.”

“ But it’s your land remember?” Cagney says, just shy of sweet and full of malice. She glares, and he grins at her ferally before he continues.

“I said I’d make the place look presentable, and if you kill the plants later on it’s gonna look all the worse, now shut up and listen.”

She snorts as he pats for her to sit in front of a freshly tilled flower bed. He wonders when he can get her to blow her top off at him. But when he turns to say something particularly scathing he sees her looking down at the soil in genuine interest, her fingers are gently petting the petals of the flowers in her little pot. He feels more annoyed at himself for noticing.

“So, what are these?” Hilda asks after Cagney has dug a small hole into the ground. She gently pries the rooted plant from it’s ceramic mold, and a part of him is fascinated at her care.

“They’re called snapdragons,” her eyes flick to him, amusement makes them sparkle, and Cagney can’t help but grin back. Grim Matchsticks doesn’t have to know he’s making a cheap joke at his expense, especially since the last time Cagney had seen the dragon he had laughed before giving his condolences.

“ That sounds like I should worry about being fire-balled out of my house,” Hilda compresses the soil down and her fingers are chalked in black dirt. He hovers, to monitor her actions as she settles the flowers in.

“ Nah, I used the last of my rigged seeds on those mugs,” Cagney mutters. Something anxious twists in his gut, but he refuses to acknowledge he may be feeling a tad lost at the moment.

The air around them turns stagnant and heavy. Reluctantly, Cagney looks away from Hilda’s suddenly stilled fingers, up her sunburnt arm, and up to weary eyes.

“Going on the straight and narrow now, huh?” She phrases the words less like a question and more like an ultimatum.

“And you?” He means for it to sound abrasive but it just comes out tired, a bit like he feels...almost.

She shrugs, as if she didn’t care, and if Cagney was a nicer person he’d let her be. But he’s not, and so he presses on like he sticking one of his thorns into someone’s side. He flicks muddied water onto her face, watches her scowl.

“I can’t grow things in a second like I used to, and you can’t turn yourself into floating puff balls,” he ignores the growl she gives him and continues, “So, what are you gonna do with your freedom?”

Hilda gives him a look as if he is asking something obvious and he’s being the stupid one.

“Why,” she says batting her lashes in mock flirtation, “I already got you teaching me your little gardening tricks, I got a good thing going already.”

Cagney doesn’t say it is probably a poor substitute from being in the skies for her, but he’ll take it. And when she nudges him to continue his impromptu lesson, he makes fun of her ridiculous tin watering can of course, but he thinks that just maybe he can make it without The Devil’s cheats. 

_______

Cagney said he would kill Goopy Le Grande and he feels close to it as he watches the glob staring at him in shock.

“I was just joking about Hilda being your gal, but if that means I play matchmaker you gotta return the favor!” Cagney tries to remind himself Goopy is one of his only friends and not potential mulch.

He breathes evenly and slowly “It’s a job meaning money, which we’re all really short on right now, thanks to the Casino going down.

“And lessons,” Cagney almost cringes as Goopy waggles his eyebrows at him. He chooses to ignore him for his own sanity. Goopy grins, wide teeth,and Cagney wonders what he has to be so happy about but before he can ask the subject is already changing on him.

“You should open a business!”

Cagney’s mind grinds to a halt, and all he can do is stare at Goopy grumpily, feels his temper peeter out as he says “ Open a what now?”

Goopy jiggles and it seems like he’s settled on his idea being the best thing ever, “Yeah,” he’s close to yelling now, “You can make all those frilly flowers, drag in Hilda to be our pretty lil’ flower lady, drag in Honeybottoms while you’re at it! People like flowers right?”

He feels his mouth go dry as Goopy winds himself up more. Before he can regret it he nods in agreement for once and says,”Nothing to lose I guess…”

Goopy is crowing in excitement, and as Cagney watches him he begins to wonder if he’s legitimately made himself go insane since he’s agreeing to go through one of Goopy Le Grande’s inane plans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Thanksgiving to all my fellow ‘muricans! I will, tentatively, promise all updates will be on Friday’s from now on as I vicariously project my love of Hilda into Cagney.


	3. To Grow an Iris

Hilda’s glare prickles across Cagney like ant bites. But he’ll be damned if he’ll let her know he’d be sweating if it was possible. They both stand awkwardly in front of the disgustingly quaint home of Elder Kettle and the mug brats.

He can tell Hilda’s patience is dwindled after foot pedalling from her home, but he kind of wants to tell her it was her own fault for insisting on carrying him in a pot miles through the air.

“It’s faster…!” She had spit at him, ordering him to shrink, and plopped him down into a basket swinging from her arm. He had clung to the wicker sides as they teetered through the air.

________

 

Goopy had been the one to loudly ask her to join in the endeavour of opening a brand new flower shop. The likes of which Inkwell had never seen and a fresh start to wipe away bad memories. The pretty exaggerations had nothing to do with Cagney.

Hilda had looked between the two as Goopy ranted about “ _The Grand Scheme”_ , Cagney had let him dub it to his heart’s dumb content.

She had settled them in around a rickety wooden table in her observatory’s kitchen, she grumbled about Cagney bringing in dirt as she added lumps of sugar cubes into china cups. Goopy drained the tea in one swig. Cagney took a slow sip only when she forced the tea into his hands. He didn’t mention that it was bitter.

Once Goopy was done, her eyes settled solely on Cagney. He stared back, watching her thin lips curl and tensed himself up for the scathing sarcasm that was most likely coming.

“You still going to help with my garden?” Hilda had asked instead.  
  
Cagney blinked, she tapped her foot on the wooden bars of the stool she was settled on.

“I have some seeds I was thinking we could get ready in a few days,” Cagney finally said in a bit of a daze.

She nodded primly, focused on Goopy to ask what she was supposed to do. And that had been that...he felt a small flicker of admiration towards Hilda Berg.

________

 

Now though, he’s honestly surprised she had agreed so easily to such a far-fetched, and admittedly, flimsy idea. He wonders if perhaps she had been possessed.

Cagney shakes the thought away, blames it on hanging around Goopy too long. He straightens his stem. He eyes the neatly polished wood door in contemplation.

“Well?” Hilda demands breathlessly, and Cagney thinks she’s probably out of practice going long distances as a blimp. He recalls the nights she streaked across the inky black skies as a comet instead.

They still haven’t really brought up whether they missed their bargained tricks again.

Hilda continues,”You going to keep standing there like a sap until you sprout roots? Hurry and knock so we can get out of this awful sun.”

He fixes her with a fierce scowl baring his fangs but she looks annoyingly unruffled, so Cagney wilts in defeat as he raises a leaf to knock.

They stare a little too intently at the door, and it swings open in a rush.

The blue mug is the one that stands on the other side. The three of them stare wide-eyed at each other in silence for several tense moments. The mug’s mouth hangs open like a fish, and for the life of him Cagney can’t tell the difference between the two brother’s. Plus, he had never bothered with their names once they skipped away leaving him in the dust.

He forces himself to break the quiet, clears his throat says as politely as he can manage, “Hi, is the… Elder… here.”

He feels Hilda pat his petals as if she’s saying “I’m with you, pal…”and embarrassingly he feels a flush on his cheeks.

The kid is still staring, all deep and serene,  
Cagney really just wants to get the whole situation over with. Hilda is carefully inching closer to Cagney until he feels her fingers just barely graze against the side of his leaves. He realizes his heart starts to jump for a whole different reason.

The kid grins, sunny and warm, it makes Cagney’s nerves crawl unfortunately.

“Oh sure,” he motions them into the tiny house babbling all the while until he leads them into a cozy kitchen. Cagney’s eyes flit to Hilda’s face for just a moment, and it looks like she has just bit into a lemon, her face is pinched into a tight little smile, and slowly Cagney’s eyes follow her gaze.

Sitting in a sullen little heap staring Elder Kettle down across the table is the other twerp. Neither notice the added company. There is a bowl sitting between the two, filled with what Cagney can only hope is oatmeal. It looks a sickening grey, and the only sound is the plop plop of oatmeal chunks falling off the spoon in the kid’s hand and back into the bowl.

It’s only when Cagney clears his throat the two whirl bug-eyed, and it almost looks as if Elder Kettle is embarrassed to be caught in such a situation.

Cagney suddenly knows why the mugs act the way they do…

“Come in, come in!” The elder blusters, and quick as a flash, the red mug zooms out deeper into the house once the stare-down is broken.

The elder sighs tiredly, before promptly shoving the gluey oats in front of the other kid, and mutters something about giving it to him in the first place.  
He fixes that warm old person stare on Cagney and Hilda.

“I was wondering when more of you would be paying a visit, Cuphead and Mugman here have become quite the celebrities on the island.”

Cagney fidgets just a bit. He watches in disgusted awe as, Mugman he would guess, pours an obscene amount of milk into the cold curdled mess of oatmeal. Watches him shovel it into his mouth with gusto as he pieces his words together.

“We wanted to see you… Sir,” Cagney says finally. He hears Hilda snicker beside him, and he tugs a lock of her hair to keep everything from going to complete chaos and tries for once in his life to smile politely.

Elder Kettle carefully fiddles with the end of his mustache as he gazes at them. “Now, that is a surprise,” He motions for Cagney and Hilda to sit, and serves them warm coffee. “Now,” he continues after creaking into a seat, “What did you need me for?”

Cagney watches Hilda daintily sip from her coffee, and follows suit before answering. It’s bitter, and Cagney is starting to think all Inkwell folks can’t make hot beverages.

The idea of opening a flower shop still sounds silly and ridiculous when it’s talked about out loud. But there’s a tiny bit of _want_ in him and he’ll be damned if he let’s that go. He’s too stubborn for that.

He’s cracked.

“We thought it might be a good idea to uh… let you know we were thinking of starting up a business,” Cagney’s words are a bit clunky and he’s not used to acting civil. But Hilda nods, urging him on and he realizes he’s actually happy she’s with him.

“Talking to you seemed smarter than sneaking around and causing a racket,” Hilda inserts crisply.

“That sounds lovely, but what sort of business? I can’t say Inkwell is the type of place where the residents know how to hold their gluttony in for pretty promises,” Elder Kettle pins Mugman down with a stern glare. The kid smartly stays eating, staring blankly out the kitchen windows.

Hilda answers before Cagney can, and looks at the Elder like she’s daring him to speak out against her, she’s blunt and to the point, she lifts her head stares him down and says,”Flowers.”

The old coot’s expression softens suddenly and smiles at them both, Cagney swears he sees his eyes glisten, “Lovely…” he repeats,”This island can always do with a little more beauty, I’ll look forward to it.”

Cagney shifts slightly, feels the burn of embarrassment in his petals but manages to force out a gruff “Thank you”.

The least Cagney can do is force himself to drink that awful coffee to further show his gratitude, he chugs it and tries not to let his gag show on his face.

________

  
Cagney and Hilda walk down the path leading away from the house of Elder Kettle and his wards. Hilda had resigned herself to walking back, but she forced him into her wicker basket once more. She said it was more practical than him throwing grass and soil into her shoes.

Cagney found he didn’t mind the jostling so much…

They are a good distance away from the house, the sun shining enough to blind when he hears a sharp “ _Pssssst_!” hiss through the air. Cagney straightens his stem and leans out of the basket. Hilda is turning her head every which way also.

Finally his eyes land on a tree not far from the path, behind it watching them intently is Cuphead.

Cagney huffs a breath and steels himself before warily wagging a leaf for him to come over. Slowly the cup shimmies their way hands behind his back, and it almost looks like he’s unsure.

Hilda cradles the basket holding Cagney.

“What do you have there, Cuphead?”

She sounds patient, and it throws Cagney for a loop. Maybe she didn’t hold grudges like he thought she would.

Carefully, Cuphead unfurls his fingers, which are covered in splotches of dirt. He’s holding several ugly little bulbs, stalks of green are just barely starting to peek out.

Cuphead meets Cagney's eyes, all his usual cocky bluster gone as he says, “ I heard you talkin’ to Gramps from the window, so… here!”

He all but shoves the bulbs into Cagney’s leaves. Cuphead begins running back to the house and a shout trails behind him.

“Let me know when I can buy some of those!”

Once he’s out of sight Hilda resumes her pace and Cagney places the bulbs in the bottom of the basket.

“What kind are they?”

He looks up to meet her steady gaze, grins, and feels lighter than he has in days.

“Guess we’ll have to open shop and find out.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sliding in to thank everyone who has taken the time to read this, and my friend for making me finally write something for Cuphead. Y’all are the bees knees.


End file.
